


By Coincidence or By Design

by hallowgirl



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Angst, Brother Feels, Brotherly Angst, Brothers Are Complicated, Family Angst, Gen, Jealousy, Milibros, Self-Hatred, Sibling Rivalry, prompt fics, self-confidence issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallowgirl/pseuds/hallowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He could say it out loud, put it into words between them. The looks they've always given each other. The silent clamouring in Ed's chest, the desperate whisper of <em> Why is it always you? </em> And the heartbeat racing, the sick, trapped panic at the thought of it being any different."<br/>The fact is that even when one of them can say they've won, they've both lost. Inspired by a prompt after Ed not being invited to David's 50th birthday. Angsty milibros written to the song "Drag" by Placebo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Coincidence or By Design

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt after it turned out that Ed wasn't invited to David's 50th birthday. Obviously, total and complete fiction, not meant to represent real life. The title comes from the song "Drag" by Placebo which I had on repeat writing this and which always reminds me of the milibros angsty, angsty relationship.

_You're always ahead of the pack, I drag behind,_   
_You possess every trait that I lack, by coincidence or by design_   
_You're the monkey I got on my back, that tells me to shine_   
_You're always ahead of the pack, while I drag behind_   


* * *

  
When he was little, he hated the fact that David was older. It meant that David would get to every age first-ten, thirteen, eighteen-before Ed could and by the time Ed got there, David would already have made such a good job of it that it didn't matter if Ed tried or not, because it would never match up.  
But he tried, anyway. And every time he did something-one A grade or debating medal or the one certificate for passing his violin exam-he'd get that same rush of furious pride and _yes,I don't need you, I don't need.._.and underneath that prickling feeling of _what if it doesn't happen next time_ , what if it's _stupid, second-rate, disappointing_ and it meant whenever David clapped him on the shoulder or pulled him into a rough hug and told him he always knew he could do it, Ed would feel as if something raw and jagged was pulling into a knot in his chest, part of him wanting to hug David as tight as possible and part of him wanting to shove him away.  
He always hugged him back, because that way he could push down that jagged feeling, push it down until he could bend it into the next essay, the next list of grades, the next way to do well.  
It's always well but it never feels like better and so it's never enough.  
 

* * *

  
Daniel is a rather suitable companion to have at Lords, because Ed can take in the cricket while Daniel occupies himself with colouring in and asking the occasional question which Ed does his best to answer. ("When will we be able to control the weather, Dad?" "Do you miss talking to Mr. Cameron every day, Dad?" "What's coke, Dad?" This last one leads Ed to whip away the newspaper he'd thoughtlessly left in his son's lap and hastily replace it with a Doctor Who novella.)  
It's when the sky's beginning to turn orange and Ed's thinking about what time he needs to get himself and his son home for dinner when Daniel turns to him and says "Do you and Uncle David hate each other?"  
Ed stares at him. "What-why do you ask that?" is all he manages, as Daniel turns back to the game, as though this question is just the same as the ones about the sky or David (Cameron, not his brother) or the magazine and to Daniel, it probably is.  
"Because Mummy said you didn't get invited to his birthday" says Daniel, staring up at him with big dark Miliband-eyes. "I have to invite Sam to my parties."  
"Mummy told you-that Uncle David-"  
Daniel wriggles. Ed eyes him warily. "Daniel, have you been listening to Mummy's conversations again?"  
Daniel wriggles more. "Not deliberately" he says, blinking up at Ed with all the wide-eyed innocence he can muster. "Just-Mummy has a very loud voice."  
Ed stares at him. "Daniel, Mummy does not have a loud voice-"  
"She does, when you're by the kitchen door getting your Scrabble piece which Sam threw and it-takes a while to look around" says Daniel, blinking again. "And she was telling-Franch-es-"  
"Frances" Ed corrects automatically. "Mummy's friend is Frances."  
"Frances, that Uncle David was-" Daniel's brow furrows. "Mean-spirted."  
"Mean-spirited" Ed corrects again, even as his heart sinks. "And anyway-"  
"So, do you and Uncle David hate each other?" Daniel asks again, his attention now back on the field, even as Ed stares at him and wonders what should worry him more, that his son is getting wrapped up in their family feuds or that he thinks Frances is pronounced with a _ch._  
"No" he says, the answer he knows Daniel needs, the answer he knows he is supposed to give. "No, Daniel, we don't hate each other. It's-difficult-"  
"Daddy, look!" Daniel is pointing at someone on the field now, at a ball that's just been caught and Ed lets his explanation trail off which is fortunate because he had no idea where it was going to go.  
He doesn't hate his brother, he tells himself, and for once, he thinks he might be telling himself the truth.  
 

* * *

  
When they were children, David hated having Ed at his birthdays.  
He was never allowed to say that because Ed was his little brother and so he was special, but it was true. Ed was a pain, which he was never allowed to say either, because Ed was clever and meant well and gazed up at David with big dark eyes, like David was the best big brother in the world. (Which David knew wasn't true, no matter what he tried to tell himself otherwise.)  
But Ed also wanted to hold David's hand all the time and liked to examine the labels on David's birthday presents and tell him loudly who'd spelt the words wrong, and liked to always, always copy what David had on his plate, to the point where whenever David ordered in a restaurant, their mother would just order the same thing for Ed without even asking anymore.  
David liked it sometimes, but then Ed would want to wear the same clothes as him and whenever he was trying to do homework, Ed would stare over his shoulder and lean against him and sometimes grab his hand and say "You got that wrong, David, it'th wrong" with that lisp he'd had since the time he could talk.  
When they were little, he'd shove Ed in the chest and tell him to _go away_ and _stop being a pain_ and _It's it's, not it'th_ , he said once, cruelly and saw Ed's big dark eyes widen, his lip trembling ominously, and later, their mother had found Ed crying into his pillow and when Ed had told her what had happened, their father had told David solemnly how very, very ashamed he was, and David had glared at his feet because Ed _did_ say things wrong. He said things wrong and did things wrong and was a pain, but no one was allowed to tell him because he was a baby.  
As they got bigger, he didn't mind Ed being around so much. He didn't even mind Ed doing the same things as him because he'd discovered he was generally better at them. And he could smile and hug Ed close to him and tell him how proud he was of him for those achievements worth just a little less than him, that weren't quite as good, quite as special and think the whole time _I did this, I did this better._  
 

* * *

  
In the days after Ed had won, when he'd phoned over and over again until David had stopped picking up, David had wondered bleakly, with Louise constantly watching him, asking if he was all right, if Ed picked up on the irony of this whole thing, that their whole lives had been Ed trying to catch up with him, and it had been David pushing him away.  
When he'd realised Ed ordered the same thing as him, he started ordering things he knew Ed hated, even when he couldn't stand the taste of it himself. Ed would stare at him, with those big dark eyes and nod when their mother asked if he wanted the same thing, and David would smile at his younger brother and know deep down, that a part of Ed hated him for this. Almost hoped for it.  
He'd force it down, whatever it was, chewing and swallowing and telling himself how delicious it was and watch Ed do the same thing, their eyes locking, David's jaw clenched so hard it ached. He'd always smile while he swallowed down whatever it was and so would Ed. A couple of times, afterwards, he'd end up in the bathroom, vomiting, his throat burning, shivering with what he'd made himself do and the only comfort being that Ed had had to do it as well.  
He'd sit next to Ed in the car on the way home, their heads pushed against one another when they were younger, their shoulders brushing when they were older, and they'd share a smile in the darkness of the journey-a different smile than the ones they'd exchanged in the restaurant, a smile that said each of them knew that they'd both hated the whole thing. David would smile at his brother, the sourness of the bathroom and winning still twisting his mouth and he'd breathe in the scent of his brother's hair and let himself laugh at whatever Ed came out with, let himself have this moment when they could just be brothers, with no one fighting or losing.  
He always waited for the day Ed would ask for something different, but Ed always asked for the same thing as him, and David told himself he still hated it as much as he did when they were children.  
Ed keeps calling and David keeps pushing him away but this time it isn't his idea.  
 

* * *

  
Ed told himself he'd done it because it was the right thing. He told himself that it was because he had something to offer that was important, that could change things, because he had his own ideas. He told himself that he had his own ideas and that that was why he was running, and not the fact that for the first time something belonged to him that hadn't belonged to his brother first.  
Ed had eaten the food David ate and worn the clothes David wore and tried to be as much like David as possible because David was older and cleverer and even though he sometimes lay awake at night after David's birthdays and counted the days until he reached his next birthday because then at least there'd be one year less between them.  
He usually hated the food David ate but he ate it anyway and he knew when David worked out that he hated it, that they both hated it and kept ordering it anyway. He knew why David stayed in the bathroom for ages afterwards, knew and felt something twist in his chest, a wanting to put his arms around his brother's shoulders and whisper that he doesn't have to do this, and underneath it, a curl of disgust at knowing this about his brother. Knowing this weakness, like finding him crying under the bedclothes. David shouldn't be weak. David is David and that is the way things are supposed to be.  
And then Ed knows he shouldn't feel like this because David gets sad like everybody else. But then, David isn't like everybody else, at least not to Ed.  
He always knew that David hated having him there. Not all the time-in fact, not most of the time. Because there were times when they leaned against one another while they watched TV or when David sat and helped Ed with his homework for hours, or when their eyes locked whenever they agreed on some point together at the dinner table, while their father despaired of two sons who talked about the Labour Party, of all things-when Ed would feel that leap in his chest, that solidity of loving David, of knowing that he was glad to have a brother. That David was glad to have a brother.  
David was better at football and got better marks and knew more to say at the dinner table than Ed. And Ed was smaller, younger; when they went out, people fussed over him more than David, ruffled his hair, gave him more sweets. And so, when David snapped at him, yelled for him to go away, even shoved him roughly in the shoulder, he blinked and forced out a wail and let the tears run down, and it would always be David who got yelled at and given extra chores for a week.  
Ed let his mother ruffle his hair and told himself that that was what he wanted anyway. When he sat next to David at dinner, he'd hold the skin of his brother's arm, twisting and squeezing it in a vicious pinch that would leave David gritting his teeth. But he never made a sound and even though Ed kept doing it, even once digging his nails in until a spot of blood appeared, bright and red and smearing Ed's fingertips, David never made a noise and Ed never wanted him to.  
At night, he'd think about his fingers digging into David's skin and he'd swallow, his eyes heavy with tears and he'd crawl into his brother's bed and whisper that he was sorry. David was usually already asleep and so Ed would scramble in beside him, and pull back his pyjama sleeve and press a kiss to the red marks on his brother's arm that his own fingers had made. He'd wake up in the morning, David's arm around his shoulders, having rolled together at some point in the night and in those half-awake moments, David would smile at him or even ruffle his hair, and it would be one of those times when they were just brothers and David didn't seem so many miles ahead.  
 

* * *

  
Ed had stared at the phone over and over again that morning, wondering whether to pick it up and leave a message on his brother's machine, just one message, one generic, cheerful _Happy Birthday_ , that would suit the way they've come to treat each other these days, that would suit this painfully polite distance they've set between them. In this new distance, the fact his brother has been alive fifty years means nothing. It's just another date to mark on the calendar with a passing interest and then get on with his own life.  
That's the way he should keep it now, this new kind of normal, polite and distant and what they pretend is the best thing for both of them and maybe that's why he hung up before he could let himself leave the message, because it'd just be another lie between them and right now, Ed is wondering if there've been enough.  
As he carries Daniel through the station, he thinks of those moments he sees shared between his sons-the way they scrabble and giggle together over their board games, the way they can be engaged in a rough and tumble fight one moment, and collapsed in laughter together the next and how sometimes, he watches them and wonders if they have a better idea of how to be brothers than he does.  
When they were children, he and David used to pretend to take turns. But in their games of pretend, David was always the teacher, the doctor, the Prime Minister. Ed was the student, the patient, the Chancellor or the Foreign Secretary or the Whip. Because David was older, smarter, better. A couple of times, Ed blinked and let the tears run out until David let him have a turn, let him take a turn teaching them letters or signing a document to save the world. But looking at David standing there, with his head tilted to the side, waiting for Ed to give him a command, looking utterly untroubled, Ed would try to look as though he fitted here perfectly, as though it was perfectly natural for him to tell his brother what to do.  
It would send a rush through him, a giddy thrill that went to his head, and at the same time, when David did what he said without arguing, without complaining, something heavy would sink in Ed's chest, at the sight of David doing what he was told, David letting Ed tell him what to do, because that wasn't the way it was. It was pretending and David was doing it for Ed and that made Ed try to believe it but he knew that David knew that's all it was. They both knew and Ed hated it and hated himself for knowing it.  
 

* * *

  
When they were both in the party, making their way up the ranks, it was almost a relief when their divisions became apparent-David for Blair and Ed for Brown, because at least this was something they were allowed to disagree on. They could disguise their other battles under the guise of politics, the way they had done as teenagers when Ed would disagree with a point David made so that he could tell his brother how misguided, outdated, how _wrong_ he was, and tell himself that he was helping David and that it was all for the greater good. As adults, they'd do the same in the Commons bar, over the dinner table, with their partners exchanging those eye-rolls of _didn't we make the same mistake choosing political men, who'd have them, eh_ , and they could laugh and clap each other on the arm afterwards and tell themselves that a political debate was all it had been. Nobody ever really won or lost, and Ed would never have admitted that he was thankful for that because he didn't know which he preferred.  
When they'd both been running for the leadership, it had been that all over again but bigger, more important, the chance to carry out those arguments on television, in front of reporters, but with politics painted over it all, their debates about facts and figures and not each other, not the thing that they avoided saying from the moment he told David he was going to run for leader. Instead of being all about them, it was all about politics. And, in the way it had since they were teenagers, that made it all about them.  
Their debates started and ended with politics but when they both patted each other's backs a little too hard or pulled each other into a rough embrace when it was over, their smiles wouldn't reach their eyes, they might have been throwing words back and forth about something else altogether. Ed wanted his brother to say it to him: _We both know you can't win. We both know you can't. We've both always known that._ And Ed almost wanted him to say it, to give the answer the question Ed has never been able to ask, because he knows what answer he's supposed to want, and that's not the one he's waiting for.  
 

* * *

  
David always used to let Ed in. When Ed dug his fingers into his arm under the table, he let him, and he never cried. Ed did, later, and he'd wind his little arms around David's shoulders and murmur how sorry he was. David always heard and he always pretended not to, so that Ed would stay next to him, so that they could wake up with his arms around his brother's shoulders, and pretend that they were brothers, without all the questions that never spilled out of either of their mouths because it felt like if either of them asked the things they wanted to know, the world would fall apart.  
David let Ed in because whenever Ed's eyes widened and filled, that same tear-filled look he'd fixed on David as a toddler when David used to hold toys out of Ed's reach just because he could, and because David hated to see Ed look like that more than anything in the world. He let Ed in because he couldn't stand to see it and he pretended to sleep because he knew his brother couldn't bear to see the same look on his face. So they both pretended, the same way he pretends now that the fact that Ed hasn't called on his birthday is just another symptom of the distance between them. That it's the plaster covering the cut, not the one ripped back to expose the wound.  
When their father died, Ed had sobbed on David's shoulder, and David had held him. Their mother had been in tears and David had held her, had been there for both of them. That night, Ed had curled against him the same way he has as a child when he had nightmares or his lunch money stolen or a thousand fixable things went wrong, and he'd buried his head in his big brother's shoulder, and David had tangled one hand in his hair and wished that this was something else he could make better for his little brother. And he hadn't cried and he hadn't broken because he knew that this was the only thing that could come close to keeping his brother together.  
When Ed had told him he was running for the leadership, David had looked at him for a moment and the answer had been right there in his head; _no, you won't want it. You won't want it if you win it, because you don't want what you think you want._  
_Because I won't give it to you_ and he hadn't been thinking about the leadership.  
 

* * *

  
Ed had said to him "Do you mind?", the way he'd asked as a kid when he'd taken the last bite of food off David's plate, when he'd been the first to hand over his school report and David had always had to smile with their parents' eyes on him and say "No, no of course not" and know that this was the only way that Ed could bear to do it, and for some reason, he kept letting him each time.  
And Ed had stared at him then and said "Do you mind?" and David had stared back at him and thought _Not for me_ , and it hadn't been because Ed might lose that he'd minded for his brother. It wasn't going to fix anything and Ed had always thought David could fix everything, whether through winning or losing or not letting him ask the question neither of them ever wanted to hear.  
When they'd hugged, it had been Ed who'd drawn in that sharp breath, had shuddered for a moment on the edge of tears against David's shoulder and that had fitted too, because even now, while Ed had been stepping ahead, he was reined tight into place, into the roles they continued to play, holding all the things the other lacked. To do otherwise would be breaking up a twisted jigsaw puzzle they'd put together long ago and were now too frightened to unscramble, to break into pieces.  
 

* * *

  
Ed had known that David wouldn't tell him not to do it and maybe that was what had made him tell him, the thing that had finally opened his mouth and let the words spill out, told his brother he was running against him, that he was fighting him for something. That he was, for the first time, making them rivals in the open, as well as underneath everything they did, the unspoken whisper behind every word that passed between them.  
And he had stared at David and waited and for a heartbeat, he had seen the look in his brother's eyes and his stomach had twisted until he thought he might vomit, because that look wasn't David. Because David should not think Ed could beat him in this, because Ed could never beat David even if he wanted to, more than anything, which was why he dreaded it so much.  
And then David had nodded and hugged him and told him he wished him the best of luck, and may the best man win, and it had been Ed who'd felt the sob break from his throat into his brother's shoulder, and when David had shushed him gently, the same way he had as children when Ed had woken up screaming and it was David's bed he crept to, it had been relief he felt because they were still the same, even when Ed was breaking their roles into a thousand pieces.

* * *

  
 When they said his name, Ed couldn't look at David for a moment because it couldn't be real. David was supposed to win, because David always won, because that was the way it had always been. David won and they didn't talk about it and now it was out in the open, now that it had all changed, and Ed was searching for his brother, because he needed his brother to make it right.  
David's eyes had locked with his and for a few seconds, his brother stared at him, his expression horribly raw and shocked and broken, and that made Ed shake his head because this was David and David should never be broken, should never be looking at Ed like this, as if Ed was the one who was...  
And then David had smiled, an achingly bright smile and put his arms around him, whispering "Well done" in his ear and Ed had closed his eyes for a moment because David was acting like David again and everything could have been normal. But everything wasn't normal because Ed had won and this wasn't the way anything was ever supposed to go. It was the way he'd always wanted them to go and never dreamt they actually would.  
And now that he'd beaten David, now that he was standing there looking at his brother who had lost for the first time, and he had won, it ached to smile and there was a cold heaviness settling in his chest and this was not how he should feel winning for the first time. And he had stood there, forcing himself to smile, shaking hands, and wondering how this could be how he felt when he had got what he'd thought he wanted all along.  
 

* * *

  
David enjoys his birthday. It's a conscious act to enjoy his birthday because it's an effort, the way so many family events these days are an effort, but it's one that's generally worth it. And today, even when he's surrounded by people who want to be there, even when he's been surrounded by people who want to be there with him, without his brother, there's something underneath it all that doesn't quite fit. The same way it didn't fit when Ed's face fell when David pointed out his lisp or the way his brother's head dropped when David told his friends how Ed had once been proud of the fact he could walk around the table wearing their mother's high heels in front of their father's friends.  
It's Jacob who asks "Why didn't Uncle Ed come, Daddy?" and David bends down to kiss his head and tells him that Uncle Ed's very busy and that they talked on the phone earlier and wonders how many times he'll have to lie to his children.  
Jacob and Isaac pull each other round by the arms, dancing to a song David doesn't recognize and David feels himself smile so hard it hurts, irrationally, desperately happy that his sons are still young enough to want to dance with each other. That they are happy to dance together, that they are young enough to believe him, that they are young enough not to understand why brothers could splinter apart over anything more serious than a snatched toy or a changed cartoon channel.  
David watches them dance, giggling as they knock into one another and he remembers Ed falling into his chest, when he was thirteen and geeky and didn't seem to quite fit in his body, with those far-too-big glasses and that lisp that still punctuated each word, which made David grin more often than it used to.  
He remembers he and Ed exchanging grins when they managed to leave their father grasping for words at the kitchen table, and the way that sometimes at night, they'd lie awake and talk about school and political thinkers and even small, trivial bits of thought like how girls didn't seem to look geeky in glasses and how you could know when one smiled at you if she just wanted to be polite or if she might actually like you, which had made Ed splutter and protest when David had asked with a grin if there was anyone he liked.  
They used to lie against one another on long car trips, Ed's head wedged against his shoulder, with David's hand tangled in his hair when they were too tired to pretend to be too old for each other and David would fall asleep with Ed's eyes closed against his shirt, fingers still clutched against his always perfectly solved Rubix Cube. Once, David had walked into Ed's room to find his brother slumped against the wall, glasses crooked and eyes tear-stained, and when David had awkwardly put a hand on his brother's shoulder and asked what was wrong, Ed had just shrugged and leant against David and David hadn't pushed him away because Ed was still his brother and it was his job to make things better. David had waited for a few minutes and then walked over to the record player and put on _Come On, Eileen_ and held out his hands to his brother, while Ed shook his head and stared forlornly at the floor. David had stood there, hands out, until Ed had reached out and taken his arm, and the two of them had ended up half-throwing themselves about the room, the air vibrating with laughter, with Ed falling off-balance against David's chest, glasses dangling crookedly from his ear, and David spinning his little brother in an awkward twirl and even pressing an awkward kiss to his hair, quickly so they could pretend it hadn't happened. They had collapsed against Ed's bed, both of their hearts pounding, their hands still linked, singing the chorus together even as they gasped for breath.  
David stares at his own children now and prays that they won't feel too old to dance together. He watches them and imagines for an empty, aching second that he'd invited his brother and that he'd looked up from his cake and seen Ed's eyes lock with his own, that gawky smile around his mouth that David has known for as long as his own, that feeling there that had been there when he'd sat with his brother's head on his shoulder, _Dexy's Midnight Runners_ playing behind them, that all there was right now was being brothers and for a few moments, that was all they had to be.  
 

* * *

  
It's later, when the children are in bed, that David stares at the computer and clicks in and out of an open email. He could send a few lines. He could send one word. He could just write _talk to me_ over and over but that wouldn't be right. He could write _I'm sorry_ but that wouldn't be right either.  
When he'd heard his brother's name, he'd known that Ed was about to find out that this wasn't what he wanted. Or at least, not all he wanted. He'd known from the way Ed's eyes roamed straight to his face. He'd known from the way Ed's eyes had widened when he saw David's face for a moment and David wished there was some way Ed could know that David hadn't been breaking just for himself. He'd whispered "Good luck" to his younger brother because Ed had won and he wasn't supposed to. Ed had torn up the script and deep down, David knew his brother had needed it more than anyone.  
Ed had won and David wondered if this was the way Ed had seen things when they were little, when he'd hung around David's friends or lisped corrections in front of any girls David brought home, if something in him had made him keep pushing David, keep pushing until David pushed harder, pushed him away. He wondered if this was the only time Ed had been the one to push away first and if Ed even knew that that was what he'd done.  
It had been gradual, and now David knows that that's what it had always been going to be. He wonders if it had been this way since the moment Ed put his name forward to run or if it has been this way for much longer, brewing for years where both of them could feel it but neither of them could say it.  
He has stayed away from Ed and kept Ed away from him because that way they can pretend. They can pretend that this is the only distance between them and that this is just the way things are now. David was meant to not invite Ed to his party. Ed was meant to call anyway. They were meant to pretend a little longer.  
Ed hasn't called and David wonders if his brother knows he's torn up the new script between them, where they are still all the things the other isn't, but in this new story, they can pretend it's not about each other. He stares at the screen, listens to the hum of his laptop and wonders if Ed knows that they can't get out of the game they've been dancing around since they were too young to know what it meant. He knows that every day David hasn't spoken to him, Ed has hated it, hated every minute of it and yet has never picked up the phone in return because this way David could still be David to him, the David he'd beaten and yet even now, was still trying to reach out to, was still lagging behind.  
David had been beaten but he was still leaving Ed behind and he didn't know if he wanted Ed to keep trying to catch up.  
David stares at the screen and wonders what he wants to say to his brother. What he's always wanted to say to him.  
_I love you, I hate you._  
_I don't want them to hate us._  
 _I want things to be how they were._  
 _It was always you._  
It has always been Ed who got out of trouble, Ed who got the sympathy, the smiles, the ruffles of the hair. It had always been Ed who had stared at him with something so guileless that it had hurt because David had known that there was no way that word could ever be applied to him. He had always watched his little brother, with his lisp and his dark eyes and his Rubix Cube and he had wondered, with something raw and jagged and desperate in his chest and had wanted to hug him, hug him until they both couldn't breathe and everything else they had to be was over, crushed out of them.  
He could have shoved him away and then hugged him later, but it wouldn't have been enough because it was never enough. He would always be ahead and he would always be waiting for the day Ed caught him up and he would always look at him with those words _hatelovehatelove_ a jagged and hurting rawness in his chest, with how much better Ed was than him and how much better Ed would never be. Because he could never be, because David had to be the one who kept going, who didn't break. Who won, even when he lost.  
He pushed Ed away and told himself that this was the way things were supposed to be between them and that a part of him wasn't still a small boy, shoving his hands into his little brother's chest, pushing him away for all the things he loved about him.  
_It was always you_ , he types, then deletes the draft and goes upstairs, erasing the words before they could be said, pushing them away before he can need them too much, the way he has always needed his brother, even when they hold onto this distance between them, the distance he can't let break.  
 

* * *

  
It's later when everyone else is asleep that Ed sits and stares at his phone, at the open draft of the text message, and tries to think of anything he can type to his brother, the same way he once tried to find a way to make his brother look at him, really look at him, even when it was accompanied by a shove or a glare or a look that told Ed that no matter what, David would always get there first, the way he got everywhere first.  
He wants to type _I love you_ because that feels true but that's not the whole story and it never has been. When he was younger, he used to watch David, watch the way he was quicker than Ed in conversations, the way his exam results were one mark higher, the way he was always just a little more than Ed, and a part of him had stared at his brother when they were supposed to be sleeping, a confused mix of anger and love and wanting in his chest. He could almost feel it, reaching out to be something more than David.  
And at the same time, never touching because to be something more than David meant David wouldn't be David and that was the only thing that kept Ed's world stable. Because David was meant to be ahead, and then Ed had said he'd run and he'd broken it all. It had broken and splintered because even when Ed had won, when things had turned upside down and that look had been in David's eyes, the one that should never have been there, David was still ahead. Even when Ed had won, his brother had too, because both of them knew it didn't fit, didn't work properly, because it wasn't what Ed wanted. It didn't give him what he wanted because it was the thing that he was most scared of, that look in David's eye when they'd said Ed's name and for the first time, it was Ed who had won, and he wanted it so much that he could taste it, and at the same time, it was the thing he wanted to push away, to hand back, because this wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Even though Ed hated it, it wasn't.  
When they were younger, Ed used to listen to his brother speak and afterwards, alone in their bedroom, he'd try to speak the same way, clipped and clear and precise. He'd watch the way David effortlessly sorted his things into his bag for school, combed his hair, sorted his whole life into place and he'd try to do the same but with papers spilling everywhere and his hair always going the wrong way. He'd listen to David speak and try to laugh when he did, but he always laughed a little too late, caught the joke a second after everyone else. He tried and tried, and when he knew it didn't matter how hard he tried, he just listened to David and hated, hated his sharpness and the way he could always make Ed laugh and the way he put his arm around Ed's shoulders and the way he always knew whatever Ed asked him. He hated it and he hated that he loved him for it.  
_You've always been_ he types and then deletes it. Because he doesn't want to poke at it, this viciously raw thing that's always been between him and his brother. The distance they have aches in his chest but it covers everything else, the roaring mix of hate and wanting and love that's been there for as long as Ed can remember, the fact that David is everything he's wanted to be like and everything he's afraid of touching. The fact that David is always ahead and that Ed's spent his life watching him and even when he'd won, he'd lost. The fact that he's never known if he loves it or hates it or both and sometimes, he thinks he'll never know.  
He could write it to David. He could say it out loud, put it into words between them. The looks they've always given each other. The silent clamouring in Ed's chest, the desperate whisper of _Why is it always you?_ And the heartbeat racing, the sick, trapped panic at the thought of it being any different.  
He could write it, but he stares at the screen and that distance is too easy to let fall between them, that distance that makes every breath ache but that's heavy enough to smother everything else, everything else they might say. Everything that they don't know and don't dare to touch and that might always be trapped there, an open lie between them.  
_It's all been you_ he writes and then deletes the message. He watches the screen go black, the empty message just another of the lies they keep telling and sits back and wonders if either of them is ahead anymore, and that even if they're not, David's still winning. He loves it and hates it and that distance will be there, the silent distance there is between them now, to cover the fact that they're both still grasping for the answer they're afraid to touch. Both still reaching for everything the other is.  
Both of them can say they've won and in the jagged lines between them, both of them know they've lost.  
 

* * *

 

_I just got to get off my chest, that I think you're divine  
You're always ahead of the rest, while I drag behind-Placebo._

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a review if you like it!


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